“Have you seen a man dressed as a chicken?”

I’m sitting at the bar of the Red Herring, enjoying a pint of Oakham’s Jeffrey Hudson Bitter, when four men on a stag do burst through the front door.  The group begins to check the radiators. The Red Herring is a fairly spacious Victorian pub, with room for a pool table and a dartboard, but their search is completed quickly. By way of explanation, they share a photo of a pub radiator; apparently, they’re following visual clues to hunt down the stag, or man-chicken. Afterwards, they each down a shot of something pink before jumping back into their waiting cab—but not before apologising for interrupting our conversation.